


saviour

by Colourspaz



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: 3+1, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 13:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/pseuds/Colourspaz
Summary: The three times that Evan comforts John and the one time it's the other way around





	saviour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowDragon519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowDragon519/gifts).

> This is for you because had you not commented on my last fic I never would have picked this back up. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to comment on my shit, it really, genuinely makes my day and inspires me to keep writing

_1._

The air is heavy. 

The air is heavy and John can’t breathe. His clothes are thick and scratchy and _just too much._

But he can’t move. 

His muscles are frozen and his throat is dry and he can’t move. 

He’s on the floor. How long has he been on the floor? 

His hands are clammy and his stomach is turning. 

Everything is _too much_ and _bad_ and _wrong all over._

He can’t move and he can’t breathe and his blood is rushing in his ears and he doesn’t know when it started but he’s crying. 

He might pass out.

He would’ve if his computer hadn’t made a noise, signaling a new message on discord. 

With shaky legs, he pulls himself into his gaming chair and opens discord. 

**Vanossgaming:** hey john u up? I’m tryna record Minecraft with someone 

With cold fingers, he slowly types a reply. Somehow, it’s gotten easier to breathe. 

**Kryozzz:** im down 

He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the three dots that pop up, indicating that Evan’s typing a reply. 

**Vanossgaming:** can you go voice?

John inhales sharply and his heart rate goes up. The feelings of anxiety from before are creeping up his spine again. 

**Vanossgaming:** it’s ok if you can’t I get it 

**Kryozzz:** yeah my mics on the fritz atm

The lie comes easily. 

**Kryozzz:** sorry

**Vanossgaming:** it’s totally fine 

The feeling recedes. He opens up Minecraft and joins the realm, relaxing to the calming background music of the game. 

Evan’s avatar shows up in front of him quickly, and guides him from there on an adventure that has him laughing and yelling. Eventually, he tells Evan that ‘my mic is fixed’ and as soon as he joins the call and Evan speaks, he forgets that he was even _wrong all over_ in the first place. 

_2._

The air is cold and the sky is dark but the friends around him and the fireworks in the sky make it warm and bright. 

It isn’t until a firework explodes a little too close and a little too loudly that John retreats, his breath quick and shallow. He heads to the side of Tyler’s bigass house, hoping nobody notices his hurry. 

Someone does, though, someone equally as introverted, and Evan sits down next to him without saying a word. 

Evan’s leg is touching his, and it’s a beacon of warmth, something for John to hone in on as he tries to slow his breathing. Evan doesn’t say anything when a few shuddering sobs crawl out of John’s throat, just moves a little closer. 

“Thank you.” John says, finally, throat raw. 

“Of course.” Evan replies. He moves ever so slightly to pull his phone and earbuds out of his pocket, and offers one earbud to John. 

The soft music starts, all but drowning out the fireworks and the shouts of their friends. 

Nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. 

They stay there until Kelly comes around the side of the house and finds them, telling them that everyone’s gone inside. 

They don’t say anything about it in the morning, but that solidarity is still there; a feeling of comfort and knowing warmth. 

The feeling is still there the next day, when they all leave and Evan hugs John a little longer than he does everyone else. It’s nice. 

_3._

Evan’s out of the house when it happens. John’s in his studio, editing casually between episodes of the Great British Baking show. 

(He really needs to try making something from that someday.) 

At some point, though, thunder rumbles throughout the house, and the next thing he knows, the power is out. 

It _definitely_ doesn’t help that he’s been on a horror game kick lately, and he soon finds himself crouched under the desk, clutching at the sleeves of his sweatshirt so tight that he’s worried they’ll rip.

Another crack of thunder sounds and he yelps and ducks his head, knees up to his chest. His breath is coming fast and shallow and sharp and it _hurts_ but he can’t slow it down. 

He hears the creak of a door under the pounding of the rain and his heart almost stops, his fear getting the better of him. He clamps a hand over his mouth to quiet his breathing but all that it does is cut off his airflow and _he cant breathe he cant breathe he cant b r e a t h e_

He’s going to pass out. His vision is spotty and his lungs are screaming for air and he’s going to pass out. But he can’t do that, because then he’ll fall prey to whatever unnatural, paranormal horror has decided to haunt him. 

Footsteps. 

They’re getting closer. 

They’re outside the door. 

The door is open John’s going to die he’s going to pass out and the monster is going to tear his throat out and feast on his flesh-

“John? You in here?” 

_Evan._

John can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Can’t alert Evan to his presence but he needs Evan to help him calm down, to help him feel safe-

“That you under the desk?” 

_Yes. Evan, it’s me, please, I need you._

And then Evan’s in front of him, moving the gaming chair out of the way and sitting down cross legged across from John. 

“Hey.” 

John still can’t move. 

“Can you blink twice if touch is okay?” 

That, he can do, and he complies, a few tears spilling out as he does. Evan places a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm, grounding. 

Evan’s other hand gently lands on his wrist, coaxing John’s hand away from his face. John lets out a shuddering gasp, his lungs begging for air. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Breathe.” Evan says. He takes the hand that had previously been on John’s mouth and places it over his own chest, letting John feel the rise and fall of his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat. 

It helps, and soon, John’s breathing has slowed from rasping breaths that rattle his chest to a more normal pattern of steady inhales and exhales. 

“Can you try and move?” 

He tries. It doesn’t work. 

“It’s okay. Can you try moving your fingers?” 

Slowly, his frozen fingers move, popping at the joints; the hand on Evan’s chest tugs at the oversized sweatshirt, bunching the fabric up under his palm. 

“What about your head? Can you nod, or shake your head?” 

This one takes a little more effort, the muscles in John’s neck stiff from staying in one place for so long. But eventually, John’s head moves side to side in a slow shake of the head. 

Evan’s smile is almost blinding, and John can’t help when he smiles weakly in return. 

“Your arms? Can you stretch out your wrists and your elbows?” 

He can, and so he does. The feeling of warmth radiating from Evan’s chest and the hand he’s had on John’s shoulder all along has spread through John’s body, unfreezing his joints and clearing his head. 

“Hug?” 

_Yes._

John moves forwards on shaky legs and falls into Evan’s open arms, hiding his face in the curve of Evan’s neck and failing to suppress the shudder that wracks his body. 

Evan rubs his back softly, the other hand tangled in John’s hair. 

As they sit there, the storm lessens until it’s only a soft patter of rain on the rooftop. Eventually, the power comes back on too. 

“Let's take the rest of the day off, yeah?” 

John nods slowly, head still resting on Evan’s shoulder. He sits back, looking at the ground and not meeting Evan’s eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

His voice is hoarse. 

“Of course,” Evan says, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose. “Anytime.” 

He shifts slightly from where he’s sitting on the floor, picking John up with ease. John yelps slightly and buries his face back into Evan’s shoulder to hide his blush. 

Evan carries him into the bedroom and drops him down on the bed, causing John to yelp again. Evan huffs a laugh and bends over to kiss him on the top of the head. 

“Get cosy, okay? I’m going to make hot cider.” 

John nods, sitting up and leaning off the side of the bed to pick up a pair of sweatpants. With only mild difficulty, he works his way out of his jeans and into the sweatpants.

When Evan walks back into the room with two steaming mugs of cider and his laptop under his arm, all he can see of John is a floof of brown hair sticking out from the blankets. 

He laughs softly and places the mugs on the bedside table, running a hand through John’s hair. John hums in appreciation, pulling the blankets down to his shoulders. The collar of his sweatshirt slips down as he does, exposing his collarbone and shoulder. Evan leans down and places a feather-light kiss to the bare skin. Evan places the laptop near the end of the bed and walks around to the other side of the bed, joining John under the covers. John takes the mugs of cider and hands one to Evan, who in turn pulls up Netflix on the laptop. 

They sit there, close as can be with Evan’s arm around John’s shoulders, sipping cider and watching tv, and they’re warm and content and happy. 

“I love you,” John says, out of the blue. 

“I love you, too.” Evan replies, pressing a kiss to the side of John’s head. 

Everything is okay.

Everything is okay, and John is happy. 

_+1_

“Evan! Dinner’s ready!” John yells, knowing the halls will carry his voice. 

No answer. Maybe he didn’t hear him. 

“Ev! You in your studio?” 

Still no answer. John sighs, figuring his fiancé has his headphones on. He takes off the oven mitts and makes sure the stove and oven are both off, and then walks down the hall to the music studio. 

“Evan?” He asks, knocking on the door. 

_Still_ no answer. John sighs and turns the door handle. “I’m coming in,” he says, pushing the door open slightly. When he gets no protest, he opens the door all the way and steps into the studio. 

What he expects to see is Evan sitting in his chair, headphones on and hard at work. 

What he sees instead is Evan, on the ground, knees tucked up to his chest and breathing heavily. John rushes over towards him, sitting on the ground in front of Evan. 

Evan looks up; his face stained with tears. 

"Hey. Is touch okay?" John asks softly. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Evan falls into his arms, hiding his face in the crook of John's shoulder. John lifts him slightly and adjusts himself so that Evan's sitting on his lap and then wraps his arms tight around him. 

They sit there, on the studio floor, for a long time, Evan letting out all of his tears, head in the crook of John's neck. John holds him tight, murmuring comforting words into his ear. 

Eventually, Evan quiets, the tears stopping and his breath coming more even. He lifts his head off of John's shoulder and scrubs hard at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Carefully, gently, John places his hands over Evan's and pulls them away, wiping away the tears with his thumb. The comfort and continued gentleness of the gesture has Evan smiling ever so slightly. 

Evan takes a shaky breath in and out as John moves his hands to the sides of Evan's face, placing a light kiss to the tip of his nose. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" 

Evan shrugs. 

"Can we eat dinner first?" He asks, voice low and scratchy. 

"Of course," John says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Evan moves himself off of John and gets up on slightly shaky legs. John follows suit, and they walk to the kitchen hand in hand. Dinner itself is a quiet affair, but not uncomfortably so.

Later, after the dinner dishes have been put away and Evan's gone into his studio to save all of his work and turn off his computers, they lay on the couch, John slowly combing his fingers through Evan's hair. 

Evan breaks the silence by asking "Can I tell you something?" 

"Anything," John replies. 

"...I'm scared."

"About what?"

"My music, for one. I'm always worried that I'm not going to get it right and people aren't going to like it. And...I push myself too hard to get stuff done on time and I'm scared it's going to lead to something really bad one day."

"..."

"My channel, for another. I'm scared that people are going to get bored of the stuff I put out but I'm not good enough to do anything else and I'm not talented and everyone's going to leave, eventually."

"...Evan, I…"

"Even you." Evan's voice is barely a whisper. "I'm so scared that one day, you're going to wake up and realize how terrible I am and leave without a word." 

John doesn't know what to say. So he settles for moving his hand to Evan's jaw and kissing him softly, trying to push as much love into the kiss as he can. 

When he pulls away, he can see tears in the corners of Evan's eyes. 

"Evan. I promise you, I am _never_ going to leave you. Ever. I'm in it with you, for better or for worse. If I wasn't, would I have given you this?" John asks, lifting up Evan's left hand and motioning to the ring on his finger. "I love you, so, _so,_ much, Evan Fong. You're so amazing; everything about you is so lovely and incredible and - fuck, I don't even _want_to imagine what my life would be like without you." 

The tears have long since spilled, and John is surprised to find his own eyes blurry with tears. He blinks, and they fall. 

But they're both smiling. 

"How do I even respond to that? Fuck, man. I love you too. I love you more than I can even fuckng articulate." Evan says. 

"God, I can't wait to call you my husband." 

"Me neither." 

"I love you." 

A kiss. 

"I love you too."

They fall asleep, pressed almost too close and limbs entangled, but they wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
